


Highly Inappropriate

by lausang



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: CEO Tony, F/M, I'm Sorry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, first fic, poorly written smut, the end is kinda dumb, this sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lausang/pseuds/lausang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assuring your boss’ every need is in your job description anyway. You’re just being a good employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highly Inappropriate

**Author's Note:**

> First smut. English is not my first language. This is a complete disaster, really.

It was supposed to be simple. Get in, leave the files, get out. It’s no rocket science. It’s not the kind of science that _he_ does.

In the ideal world, the task would be complete in thirty seconds or less and you would be free to go home and think about him and how inappropriate it is to have a crush on your boss.

But luck is not on your side today.

When you enter, files neatly stuck into the folder in your hand, he is there. He is waiting. He gives you a discreet once over, takes you in: the shoes and the skirt that you brought thinking about him. When his gaze diverts to your eyes, he is smiling. Polite, charismatic, attentive.

“So”, he says, the playful tone he always sports engulfing the monosyllabic word. “You’re still here”.

You shrug.

“For as long as you need me, sir”, it’s the answer. It’s professional enough, but sounded almost pornographic in your ears.

He throws the folder on his desk with a quiet _thump_ , like it was nothing. You can tell he is not in the mood for paperwork today.

“You work too hard”, he states, matter-of-factly, and gets up of his chair. You watch as your boss makes a bee-line towards the frigobar in the other side of the room and fishes a bottle of expensive champagne. “Let’s change that”.

“Sir, I don’t think it’s-“ you start, a half-hearted effort to stop him.

“Miss L/N”, he starts, in that fake professional tone he uses whenever he wants to give you an order that’s not exactly related to work. “I believe your job description is to assure my every need, right?”

You nod, but he is too busy finding two champagne glasses to pour the golden liquid on to notice.

“Right now, I need company”

This is highly inappropriate. He has a reputation, everyone knows about it. But there’s something in his expression, in his smirk, in his eyes – in the fact that Tony Stark is handling you a glass of Möet or De Barfontarc or whatever expensive french champagne brand that costs more than your salary -,  there’s something that has you thinking “ _fuck it_ ”, taking the glass and brushing the tip of your fingers on his as you do so.

He smiles. So do you.

One glass turns into two and then into the whole bottle. The conversation is easy and you barely notice the time flying on the clock as he makes you laugh and tells you stories and asks you questions like he is interested. When you see it, you’re sitting on the couch with your legs stretched over his, shoes a thing of the past as he massages your feet.

It’s _not_ innocent and you don’t fool yourself into thinking it is. But it feels good – _oh, it feels so good_ – and you throw your head back, into the leather armrest, and roll your shoulders, feeling relaxed and dizzy.

He watches you, carefully, not like a predator watching its prey, but _amused_ , interested. It’s totally out of this world and you feel powerful to have such a man looking at you like that. He gestures for you to turn over and you do, back to his chest. He fills your glass once more and his hand, cold and wet from the champagne, goes to your collar, undoing the first button of your shirt.

He starts massaging your back and it takes all of you not to moan. His other hand – warm and dry – joins the first and the contrast between them feels amazing through the fabric of your shirt. His calloused fingers work the muscles on your back and you give in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, melting into him, sinking your upper body into his torso.

Tony seems to notice, and he chuckles. Your now empty glass is removed from your hand and placed on the floor next to you. Then, his arms are around you, encircling your waist, bringing you closer to his warm body.

“Good?” he asks, lips by your ear and voice oh so deep. You can only nod.

He hums and the sound sends shivers down your spine. “Good”, he agrees.

Tony kisses the shell of your ear, your jaw, the side of your neck. His hands start to unbutton your shirt, gently running the tips of his fingers over every inch of skin he discovers. You feel like you’re going to melt.

You turn your head into the side and he’s there, and his lips capture yours. The kiss is slow and sensual and he grows into your mouth when your tongue brushes his. Tony gently caresses your ribcage, index finger brushing just under the line of your bra.

You nip his bottom lip and he takes it as the invitation that it is, one hand going lower to pull at the fabric of your skirt and the other expertly opening your front-opening bra. He doesn’t bother to look. He is that good.

Your head is rolling and you’re sure that this has nothing to do with the champagne. One of his hands cup your breast and the other squeeze your thigh and you mewl, completely at his mercy.

The hand in you thigh travels upward,  bunching your skirt around your hips, and he gently brushes a finger over the wet lace of your underwear. He breaks the kiss and gives a sharp intake of breath, then curses in your ear.

You spread your legs wider, making it easier for him to slip a finger into your folds. Tony strokes your pussy nice and slow, the hand in your breast now pinching your nipples.

“So wet”, he praises in your ear. “Someone’s hot for the boss”.

You want to scold him for the terrible joke at the terrible moment, but all you manage is a pathetical, unintelligible whine. It doesn’t matter: absolutely nothing can ruin the mood at this point.

“You thought about that before?” he asks as his fingers keep moving. Every coherent thought slips from your mind as his middle fingers dips inside you.

He _knows_ the answer. It’s all written in your face and in the way your hips jolt up to meet his hand, desperately searching for more friction. He knows it, but he still hums inquiringly in your ear, reinforcing the question. That bastard.

“Y-yes”, you managed in a broken voice.

He groans at your answer, then leans in and bites the pulse point on your neck. Your breath catches and you gasp and before you even process it, you’re coming around his fingers, your moans loud and high-pitched contrasting with the silence in the building.

“That’s a good employee” he says, voice low and scratchy, then laughs at his own joke and proceeds on removing his fingers – glistening, wet – from your pussy. His other hand grabs your jaw and not-so-gently turn your head so you can watch as he licks your arousal away.

He gently urges you to stand-up on unsteady legs. He moves so he’s sitting straight on the couch and beckons you over. You stand in front of him as he removes your skirt and your shit, leaving little bites and kisses on whatever piece of skin he can reach.

You sit on his lap, his legs between your knees, pull his head back by the short hair on the back of his neck and kiss him. It’s desperate and messy, full of desire. Tony grips your hips, pulls your closer and deepens the kiss, making you taste yourself and the expensive champagne on his tongue.

When your lips move to his neck, Tony growls. You feel his fingers against your inner thighs as he undoes his belt.

“I _need_ to fuck you” he murmurs on your ear, and you shiver. “Do you want it? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, sir”, is your answer.

He groans and you smile, loving to have such power on him. He pushes his pants down his legs just enough to free his cock, grabs the base and start dragging his head over your slit, up and down, teasing you, teasing himself.

You moan and rock your hips forward, needing him to fill you up and end this little torture. He chuckles at your eagerness, but give in anyway. The slide of his cock inside of you makes you gasp. He’s hard and thick and hot and so perfect that you forget to breathe.

“Ride” is his order, and you oblige happily, moving your pelvis to meet his. Tony latches his mouth over one of your nipples and grabs your hips, controlling the speed of your movements.

At this point, your moans are so loud they could be heard from two floors away. You should care, but you don’t. Instead, you keep fucking your boss on his couch, keep moving your hips and moaning his name.

Tony moves his hand to between your legs and start brushing his thumb over you clit and you lose it. Your vision blurs, your back arches and you moan incomprehensive words too loud as your orgasm washes over you.

You barely listen to the praises he whisper in your ear, too focused on the way his breath catches and his rhythm falters as he cums. Tony closes his eyes and throws his head back, moaning long and pretty.

 He takes a moment to catch his breath before looking at you and, when he does, his eyes are very big and very brown and all you can do is kiss him.

This is _highly_ inappropriate and it could ruin your professional reputation, but, when he runs his big, warm hands through the skin on your back and kiss you back, your job is the last thought in your head, the warmth and scent of him taking over every space in your mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
